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Said Yoomy, "But those great and good deeds, Babbalanja, of which the philosophers so often discourse: must it not be sweet to believe that their memory will long survive us; and we ourselves in them?"
Far more anxious are they about the texture of the sheets in which their living limbs lie. And, my lord, with some rare exceptions, does not all Mardi, by its actions, declare, that it is far better to be notorious now, than famous hereafter?" "A base sentiment, my lord," said Yoomy.
He was learned in Mardian lore; much given to quotations from ancient and obsolete authorities: the Ponderings of Old Bardianna: the Pandects of Alla-Malolla. Third and last, was Yoomy, or the Warbler.
Soft sigh the boughs in the stilly air, Soft lap the beach the billows there; And in the woods or by the streams, You needs must nod in the Land of Dreams. "Yoomy," said old Mohi with a yawn, "you composed that song, then, did you?" "I did," said Yoomy, placing his turban a little to one side.
The little maidens embraced not with their arms, but with their viny locks; whose tendrils instinctively twined about their lovers, till both were lost in the bower." "And what then?" asked Mohi, who, notwithstanding the fingers in his ears, somehow contrived to listen; "What then?" Vouchsafing no reply, Yoomy went on.
But to my sorrow, I marked that both Mohi and Babbalanja, especially the last, seemed not so buoyant of hope, concerning lost Yillah, as the youthful Yoomy, and his high-spirited lord, King Media. As our voyage would embrace no small period of time, it behoved King Media to appoint some trustworthy regent, to rule during his absence.
Yoomy was at a loss to account for the departure of Samoa; who, while ashore, had expressed much desire to roam. Media, however, declared that he must be returning to some inamorata. But Babbalanja averred, that the Upoluan was not the first man, who had turned back, after beginning a voyage like our own. To this, after musing, Yoomy assented.
A youthful, long-haired, blue-eyed minstrel; all fits and starts; at times, absent of mind, and wan of cheek; but always very neat and pretty in his apparel; wearing the most becoming of turbans, a Bird of Paradise feather its plume, and sporting the gayest of sashes. Most given was Yoomy to amorous melodies, and rondos, and roundelays, very witching to hear.
Gliding slowly by, one damsel flung a Venus-car, the leaves yet fresh. Said Yoomy "Fly to love." The second maiden flung a pallid blossom, buried in hemlock leaves. Said Yoomy, starting "I have wrought a death." Then came showering Venus-cars, and glorious moss-roses numberless, and odorous handfuls of Verbena. Said Yoomy "Yet fly, oh fly to me: all rosy joys and sweets are mine."
Said Mohi and Yoomy in a breath, "Who sought your opinion, philosopher? you filcher from old Bardianna, and monger of maxims!" "You, who have so long marked the vices of Mardi, that you flatter yourself you have none of your own," added Braid-Beard.
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